


for-fucking-ever

by pipsqueakparker (lafbaeyette)



Series: 5 Years 'Verse [3]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Biting, Gratuitous Ass Eating, Honeymoon, M/M, Sexual Content, turning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:42:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24545614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafbaeyette/pseuds/pipsqueakparker
Summary: I truly am living a charmed life.A year and a half ago I proposed to Simon mid-orgasm, and now we’ve been married for a full week. We’ve spent that week mostly in bed, which I’m not complaining about.--AKA, The One With The Honeymoon
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: 5 Years 'Verse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1665100
Comments: 14
Kudos: 214





	for-fucking-ever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KrisRix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisRix/gifts).



> Third Fic written for the Fic Giveaway I held over on Tumblr!
> 
> Written for the ever-patient and sweet KrisRix, who wanted some kinky shit. As he was one of the most vocal and thus most inspirational for the sequel to/proposal from the grinch fucking fiasco of 2019, it only felt right to write him yet another follow-up featuring the honeymoon. 
> 
> So, this is the third part to a series! Not necessary to read the previous two, I don't think, but if you end up liking this one you may wanna give 'em a look. 
> 
> All the thanks in the world to [The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff/pseuds/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff) & [ annabellelux ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabellelux/pseuds/annabellelux) for being wonderful betas, as always.

**BAZ**

I truly am living a charmed life.

A year and a half ago I proposed to Simon mid-orgasm, and now we’ve been _married_ for a full week. We’ve spent that week mostly in bed, which I’m not complaining about. (It’s a luxurious hotel bed: 500-thread count sheets made of 100% Egyptian cotton sateen fabric.)

The rest of the time we’ve gone out, taken in all the best tourist traps of Paris. (Paris was Simon’s idea, he’s remarkably soppy sometimes and thought it would be the most romantic honeymoon destination.) (I would have gone anywhere, so long as it was with him and the new rings on both our fingers.)

No matter our location, the simple act of being _married_ seems to do something to heighten Simon’s libido. He’s been absolutely insatiable this week. (Once again, I’m not complaining.) Tonight’s our last night here; tomorrow afternoon we’ll be returning to the realities of life and London. I made reservations at a restaurant Fiona suggested—very posh, three-michelin stars. The whole scene.

Simon’s in a suit and he looks more appetizing than the food. (And the food _was_ delicious.) He’s still a bit uncomfortable in these environments, as much as he tries to hide it. His eyes flick around the restaurant as he takes a sip of wine, before they finally settle on me.

“You seem distracted, love.” He’s smiling, resting his arm on the table and leaning forward. I most certainly _am_ distracted, because he’s just _sat_ there and he looks beautiful even in the dim-lighting around us. Rather than admit to that, I raise an eyebrow at him. That’s always gotten under his skin, although in a much more desirable way in recent years.

“It’s quite rude to have your elbows on the table, Snow.” I drawl, and something flickers in Simon’s eyes. A challenge. He rests both elbows on the table, leaning further over and holding his chin in his hands.

“Haven’t you heard? It’s my honeymoon; I can do as I please.” He flashes the biggest grin he can manage, before dissolving into soft laughter. His foot nudges mine under the table. “Speaking of… Are you finished? We should get out of here.”

“Have you got something in mind?” I was finished, but I cut off another bite of my steak just to toy with him.

He leans in further, and whispers conspiratorially, “Fancy a wank under the Eiffel Tower?”

I nearly choke on my food, taking a drink from my own glass to cover it. As I said, Simon has been _insatiable_.

* * *

There was no wanking under the Eiffel Tower, unfortunately. It’s quite crowded, what with being a big tourist destination and all. That wasn’t going to stop Simon, who was intent on getting off somewhere between the restaurant and the hotel. (I did let him pull me off to a secluded side street, away from the lights and people. Mutual blowies in an alleyway seemed to satisfy Simon’s exhibitionist urges well enough.)

We’re back in the hotel room now, suits long since tucked back into the closet and the streets of Paris washed from our skin. Simon’s nestled into my side on the bed, tracing indiscernible patterns across my bare chest. (We only bothered with our pants after we showered, no point in much else when we both knew they’d all be coming off again anyway.) There’s music coming from my mobile, sitting on the nightstand and playing the new album of some artist Simon’s been raving about. For the moment, I feel like I’m drowning in complete domestic bliss.

“Baz?” Simon’s voice is gentle, hesitant, like he’s afraid of breaking the ambience we’ve set. I hum, nosing his curls and tightening the arm I’ve got around him. “Do you… remember what we talked about when we first got here?”

And just like that, the domestic bliss comes crashing down around me. _Do I remember what we talked about when we first got here?_ Of course I do. As if I could forget, no matter how hard I try. As if I haven’t been dreading the moment _he_ remembered and brought it up again.

_“What if you Turned me?”_ I was absolutely certain he was joking, still reeling from a fantastic orgasm as he stretched out over my chest. I laughed, and he nudged my chin with his knuckle. _“No, I’m serious, Baz…”_

_“What are you on about?”_ I knew what he was on about, it wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned it but it was the first time in a while.

_“Just… Then we’d be together, forever, yeah?”_

_“I think you’re still stuck in your feelings from the wedding, love.”_ I carded my fingers through his hair, ignoring how nice that honestly sounded. _“We’re already married, Simon. Magically and legally bound. I don’t plan on leaving you.”_

_“No, but…”_ He sighed, pressed his cheek against my chest, and the next sentence was so quiet I nearly missed it. _“The same can’t be said for me.”_

_“Simon…”_

_“It’s true, innit? I’m human, I’m Normal—”_

_“You’re the furthest from Normal—”_

_“I’m_ mortal _.”_ I shifted, pushing myself up until I was sitting up next to him. He kept half his face buried in the blanket.

_“We don’t know that I’m not.”_

_“But what if you’re not—”_

_“Simon, I don’t want to discuss this right now. Please.”_

He dropped it then, but I knew it wouldn’t be the end. It’s never the end with him, and it’s become more apparent that this is something he’s completely serious about.

I sigh, shifting away from him. “Yes, I remember.”

He pulls himself up next to me, both of us leaning against the headboard. “What do you… I mean, have you…”

“Have I reconsidered killing you?” Simon rolls his eyes. (His whole head rolls with them, it’s adorable, even when he’s being difficult and asking me to do something impossible.)

“You wouldn’t be killing me, Baz. _You_ aren’t dead.” He shuffles closer, resting the palm of his hand on my chest. “You’ve still got a heartbeat, I’ve heard it. And you’ve got magic. That’s life, innit?”

“Is it?” I counter, because it’s the best I’ve got at the moment. We can have this argument until the end of time, but we’ll never quite see eye to eye. _That’s why I can’t do this, he doesn’t_ understand.

“Look, none of that matters anyway. It’s not about that; it’s about being with you.”

“All of that absolutely matters.” His eyes are sharp, determined, and he looks so _sincere_. I have to look away before I can continue. “It’s not… It’s a decision, Simon, that will affect you the rest of your life. What happens if you change your mind? We can’t undo it.”

“I know that,” he whispers. “I’ve thought about this, a lot. I… I get that it’s not an ideal situation, I know it’s hard for you and… and I know how you feel about this, but Baz. I _want_ this. I want _you.”_

“What if you change your mind?” I repeat. “Baz, I just said I—”

“About _me_ , Simon.” I don’t mean to snap, but Simon doesn’t flinch away like he used to. He leans in closer, actually, as I take a breath. “What if you change your mind about me? What happens if… if we do this and then you don’t want _me_ anymore?”

He’s quiet for a long moment. I keep my eyes trained on the sheets around us, try to focus on the gentle pattern he’s rubbing over my skin rather than the silence.

“Baz, I just married you, how much more will it take to convince you that I want to spend the rest of my life — _your_ life — with you?”

I do look up then, back into that depth of sincerity that threatens to drown me. _He means it._ It’s hard to wrap my head around, even after all these years, even after we were just _married._

I close the space between us with a searing kiss—one that he returns instantaneously.

**SIMON**

Baz is trying to distract me, I think.

He’s pressing his lips into my jaw, my neck, like a _tease_. I grab his face in both hands, pull it up until I can look him in the eye.

“Tyrannus—”

“Don’t use that name in the bedroom—”

I roll my eyes. “It’s for emphasis, now hush.” I clear my throat, try again. “Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, I chose you. Every day for the past seven years, and I’ll choose you for the rest of time.” My eyes are burning and my throat suddenly feels thick. I swallow down the lump that’s formed and push on. “I don’t want to know a life, or an afterlife, without you.”

“Simon.”

“Baz, _please_.”

He drops his eyes and I can almost swear they’re wet, too.

“We don’t know about the immortality bit.” He murmurs.

I shrug. “Then let’s find out together.”

“It’s permanent, Simon.”

“I know. That’s the point, innit?”

“If you change your mind—” He’s back on this again, then.

“I won’t.”

“— fifty percent of marriages end in divorce, and if—”

“ _Ours_ won’t.”

“— you won’t — you’d always be—”

“ _Baz_ ,” I growl. His eyes snap back up to mine. Grey. Piercing. Wet. Concerned. “I don’t want ‘til death do we part’, I want for-fucking-ever. It’s not about being a bloody vampire, it’s about being _with you_.”

He’s quiet for a long time, his eyes searching mine for… something. An answer? An out? I press on, if only to fill the silence, or push him to one side of the fence. Preferably mine.

“I don’t want to leave you, I don’t — I never — Fuck, Baz, I just want you, yeah? I — What if I die? And you never do? I’m bloody selfish, mate, I don’t want you to move on or be with someone else. But you deserve to be loved for the rest of your life, so. I have to do it myself.”

Baz’s throat bobs as he swallows, then he’s surging forward until our lips meet. He kisses me hard, deep, hands clutching at my back. It nearly knocks the breath out of me. Or maybe I just forget how to breathe because all I know now is Baz and Baz’s tongue sliding cool and wet against my own and Baz’s face in my hands. His cheeks are warmer where I’ve been holding them. (Will I still be able to warm him like this if he Turns me? Will I be able to tell?)

I tilt my head to the side, his lips chase mine. “That’s not an answer, love.” When I lean back his eyes are closed. “Whaddya say, Baz? Will you let me spend the rest of your life with you?”

“Simon,” he sighs, and I brace myself for another rejection. I don’t want to push this too much, I don’t want to upset him. It’s our honeymoon after all.

But I’m also not planning to let the topic drop. I meant it when I said I want this, I want him to Turn me. Maybe we don’t know the full extent of aging and vampirism, we have no idea if this means Baz is immortal or not. But what I do know is that I don’t want to take the risk. I don’t want to leave him. I don’t want him to have to live without _me_ just as much as I don’t want to live or die without him.

He lets out a breath, a rush of air across my cheek. “Alright.”

I blink. “Alright?”

“Yes, you absolute nightmare.” He runs his hands up my back, over my shoulders, until he’s cradling my face now. “If this is what you want… and you’re _sure_ —”

“I’m sure.”

“Of course you are.” He nods and leans in to catch my lips again, gentler this time. His lips trail back across my jaw, barely there brushes against my skin as he travels down to my neck. I shut my eyes, anticipating what comes next as he reaches the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. I’m not quite sure how this works, but he swipes his tongue out across the skin there, and —

And then he’s moving to the other side of my neck, one hand in my hair and tilting my head to the side to give him better access. Then he’s pushing me down until my back hits the mattress and continues the trail of kisses down my chest.

“Baz, what’re you—”

“I wanna make you feel good first,” he murmurs into my chest, lips brushing against a nipple and sending a shiver through me as he speaks. “The bite might not feel the best, we should try to counteract that.”

“Did yours hurt?”

“I was five and simultaneously watched my mother die—nothing about it felt good. But I don’t remember the bite itself.” He runs his teeth over my skin gently. (His regular teeth, not his fangs.) “Can you drop that and let me fuck you now?”

That sends another shudder running through me and has heat twisting in my belly. I nod. “R-right. Yeah. Yes.”

**BAZ**

I may have told him I would, but I’m still not sure myself.

I don’t want to give this curse to Simon. I want him to live a long happy life, I want to keep him as long as I can, but I don’t want him to risk his humanity to stay with me. I never wanted that.

But _he_ wants it, and I’m still not sure he knows exactly how bad an idea it is. I still want to fight him on it, but it’s our honeymoon. It’s our last night.

And I just want to ravish my husband.

Simon leans back against the mattress as I work my mouth over his neck, sucking and nipping at the skin to pull moan after gasp out of him.

He’s easily distracted—I’m almost hoping that a good shag will put it out of his mind for a few more days at least.

“Are you going to bite me while we shag? That’s well hot.”

Not so lucky then. I lean back with a sigh.

“I will let you know when I’m going to bite you, Snow. Take your pants off.”

“Pitch.”

I quirk a brow. He reaches out for my hand, rubs his thumb over my ring finger. Over the ring _on_ that finger. Repeats himself. “Pitch. That’s my name now, yeah?”

Every part of me melts into him, metaphorically at least. I let him interlock our fingers, squeeze his hand, then repeat _my_ self. “Take your pants off, _Pitch_.” It feels strange on my tongue, but it feels _right_.

“Sounds good, doesn’t it?” Simon’s grinning as he wriggles out of his pants. It _does_ sound good, but I don’t say that. (He knows—he _has_ to know.) I help by pulling his pants down his legs, and make quick work of my own as well.

**SIMON**

Baz is a singularly focused machine when he wants to be, and tonight that focus is entirely centered on _me_. On my pleasure, on making sure his lips press into every inch of my bare skin. He’s been ghosting kisses over my chest and stomach and hips and legs for so long, ignoring the point where I need him _most_ , and I feel like I could implode at a moment’s notice.

“Baz…” His name comes out as a sigh and he starts moving up the inside of one of my thighs, his hair falling and tickling the other. He _knows_ what he’s doing, and that simultaneously makes it so much worse and _so much better_. “ _Baz._ ”

His only response is a flick of his tongue against my thigh, and his mouth is so _close_ … And moving closer.

I just want him to _touch me already_.

He pulls away instead, and I audibly groan. That only makes him laugh—a puff of air past his lips that I’d probably miss if I wasn’t so ridiculously dialed into him with every one of my senses.

“Lift your knees, love.” He’s sat back on his feet between my legs, gently grabbing each of my ankles and pushing them until my knees are bent and my heels are nearly pressed to my arse. I watch as he wriggles back a bit, lays himself out on his stomach until his mouth is back and pressing wet kisses to the back of my thigh. He’s moving down, and down, and down, and I let out a gasp when he nips at an arse cheek. And _then_ …

“ _Fuck_.” My head falls back, hanging over the edge of the mattress, as he presses the flat of his tongue over my hole. It’s still not exactly where I’d like him to focus his attention, but of course it’s bloody brilliant. His hands are cool and rough, gripping at my arse as he works his mouth and tongue against me over and over and _over_.

I’m so lost in the sensations of it, of Baz’s tongue moving over me and _inside_ me, I’m almost able to ignore the growing ache in my back. Almost. But the longer I lay here, writhing beneath his touch and pressing down against him, the more I feel the familiar cramp in my wings.

They’ve been fine most of the day; Baz spelled them in when we left this morning, folded comfortably along my back and shoulders, but that was hours ago. Now they feel tight and sore, they need to _breathe_. Everytime Baz’s tongue hits a certain way my hips buck, lifting off the bed, pressing my shoulders back into the mattress, which isn't helping the wing situation.

“Baz.” I reach down, tangling my fingers in his hair, which only seems to spur him on. He presses into me and I groan, and a sharp pain runs through my left wing. “Fuck, _fuck_ , Baz. Baz, s-stop. Stop.”

He does, immediately, mouth and hands pulling away as he sits up again. His eyes find mine, dark and grey and concerned. “Alright, Snow?”

I nod and reach out for him, take his arm and use it to pull myself up next to him. “Alright. Just. Wings.”

“Want me to spell them again?”

I shake my head, roll my shoulders and let them unfurl and stretch. Baz watches them spread out behind me, I almost think I see a flicker of _something_ in his eyes— but I leave it be. For now. “Should let ‘em… Don’t think I can be on my back tonight.”

“I’m sure we can work out another position.” Baz would look intimidating as he leans into me if I didn’t know better, his eyes lidded and dark and almost dangerous. I meet him halfway, crush our mouths together and chase the warmth of myself on his tongue. (Will I ever feel the same kind of satisfaction after he Turns me? Will I ever be the reason for the heat in his skin again?)

His hands are warmer, too, as they trail over my back and squeeze at my hips. I don’t even know which sounds are coming from whom at this point, as he pulls me closer until we’re pressed flush together. Skin to skin. His cock’s pressed firmly against me; I think the whine that escapes into the air as I roll my hips belongs to him.

“Want you.” I’m panting against his lips as we rock against each other. “ _Fuck_ , wanna feel you inside me, love.”

“You will— We will— Just—” He pulls back to look at me, and it takes every ounce of strength I have to not pull him right back into me. He hesitates, for just a moment, before locking eyes with me and saying, firmly, “Sit on my face.”

“ _What?”_

He sets me with a look. “I think you heard me.”

“I— Well, yeah, but— What if I— I don’t want to _smother_ you.”

“Being smothered whilst nestled betwixt the sweet globes of your arse would be an honor, Snow.”

“I’m serious, Baz!”

“So am I!” He sighs. “I’m also not alive; you’re not going to suffocate me or something.”

“You _are_ alive.” The response is automatic, an argument I’ll never stop defending. His eyes soften and his broad hand is cupping my jaw.

“For all intents and purposes of eating your arse, I’m not. Even if I were you wouldn’t hurt me in any way. Now, get out of your head and sit on my fucking face, Snow.”

Well, when he puts it like _that_.

**BAZ**

Heaven has got to be somewhere between the innocent hesitance in Simon’s face as he crawls up the bed and the actual sensation of him kneeling over my face as I lie beneath him. (That innocent hesitance is a ploy, a falsehood; this is still the man that’s used a vibrator on me at the family dinner table. _Multiple_ times.)

When I said being smothered by Simon Snow’s arse would be an honor, I meant it.

Not that I am, of course. This is the furthest thing from any kind of discomfort.

Simon’s warmth is _surrounding_ me. He’s kneeling by the headboard, body hovering just over my head, and I’ve got my hands full of his arse. Spreading him open, giving myself better access as I lick and nip and press into him.

I can already feel his thighs shaking on either side of my head. He lets out a breathy moan before leaning into it, into _me_ , into my mouth. I circle just the tip of my tongue around his rim, using my hold on him to keep him from rocking down against me, teasing him until a whine falls from his lips and he’s pushing down against my palms.

“Fuck, _Baz_ , fuckfuck _fuck_.”

He continues to swear into the air until I stop pushing against him, switching off into a series of moans as he grinds down against my face. I wonder if I could make him come just like this, just letting him use me like this until he’s sore and panting and worn. Of course, that would interfere with our other plans. It’d be a proper excuse, at least, to not…

But he _wants_ it. He’s been asking for… for so long now. I’d never admit it to him, but he makes some good points. I _don’t_ want to experience a life without him. Even if there’s no guarantee I would, the thought alone has been haunting me for years.

It feels selfish, giving into this. Giving into _him_. Because who is this really _for_? I’m not doing him any favors, all I’m doing is taking away the _life_ that courses through him. I’m essentially killing him.

_“You are alive.”_ His words from moments ago echo in my head.

_Am I? Will he still be?_

If he believes part of me is still alive… maybe, _maybe,_ whatever part of him believes in that is strong enough to keep part of him alive, too.

“Baz.” There’s a rush of cool air as Simon lifts himself up, falling back onto the mattress next to me. “Get up, get _up_ , fuck, I need you to fuck me.”

He’s already swung himself to the side and dug our bottle of lube from the drawer by the time I’ve gathered myself enough to raise up. I shift until my back hits the headboard, and Simon’s on me in an instant, one hand reaching between us to stroke me and the other stretched behind him. He’s always been incredibly impatient. It’s always been incredibly _hot_.

“Ready?” Simon’s hand on me stops and he’s looking at me. There’s barely a ring of his unremarkable blue around his blown pupils, and it feels like his gaze is boring into me, _through_ me. Forget his arse, I feel suffocated under his gaze, but in the best kind of way. My chest is tight, from the inside, as if something’s clenching around my heart.

It’s him, it’s always been him. He’s the only person who’s ever had this sort of access to my heart, and he’s the only one who ever will.

I love him so much, and I tell him as much as I pull him to me, grab the back of his neck and press our mouths together. He sinks down onto my length and it feels like I’ve finally found where I _belong_.

I’m not a vampire living under the radar in the World of Mages, or a mage that won’t ever be accepted into the world of vampires.

I’m not the last heir of Pitch, with the weight of a legacy on my shoulders.

I’m _Baz_ , Simon’s husband.

That’s all I need to be, he’s all I need in this world. As long as I have him, I have everything.

Simon clings to my shoulders as he moves, the side of his face pressed against mine. His breath is hot over my skin. Everything about him is always hot, _burning._ He sets me on fire from the inside.

He’s close already, soft moans giving way to incoherent mumbling in my ear. Every so often my name slips out. He’s clenching around me, and tightening his hold on my shoulders, and panting into my neck.

“That’s it, love,” I whisper into the shell of his ear. I wind my fingers through his curls, pull his head gently to the side and start pressing my lips in a line down his neck. “Good, Simon, yes. Come for me, love.”

**SIMON**

I never thought it was actually possible to come so hard you see stars, but _fuck_.

Baz hasn’t even touched me, apart from his mouth on my neck.

I’m still gasping into his shoulder when I feel pressure there, another wave of pleasure rushes through me, stings at the backs of my eyes, burns in my throat.

Then there’s nothing.

* * *

**BAZ**

The sound of the tap echoes through the room as I hold a rag beneath the warm water. It drags roughly as I scrub at my stomach, wipe the remnants of Simon’s pleasure from my skin. I rinse it, set it aside then to rinse my own mouth.

The water runs pink when I spit.

_This is what he wanted_.

I can’t meet my own eyes in the mirror when I have to look up, check to make sure I’ve cleaned the evidence from my lips. Rub away a streak of red on my chin.

_This is what he asked for— begged for_.

The tap shuts off, the light next, and I crawl back into bed next to him. I’m gentler as I wipe at his body, clean off his stomach and chest. Dab at the dried blood still clinging to his neck.

_We don’t know about the immortality bit…_

I toss the rag onto the nightstand, pull the blankets up over both of our bodies. His is already cooler, his breathing shallow. He’s been out since I bit him, I can only hope I was right and it didn’t hurt. The last thing I want to do, _ever,_ is hurt him.

_We’ll find out together._

I pull him closer, rest my head against his chest. His heart’s already slowed, but not stopped. It’s beating at half speed, like mine.

_It’s permanent._

_He’s mine._

He’s mine, ‘til death do we part.

_If_ we part.

He’s mine, _for-fucking-ever._

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr: [@pipsqueakparker](https://pipsqueakparker.tumblr.com)


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